“Good,” I said, zipping Jack’s coat pocket shut as the boys came out of the side parlor.

I turned back toward the dining room doorway, where Richard was standing by the head of the table.

Richard rested his hands proudly on Henry’s and Sam’s shoulders at the dining table, leaning down to listen as Sam explained his latest geometry proof.

By eight o’clock the next morning, the snow outside the guest wing parlor had stopped, leaving three feet of white powder packed against the tall glass doors.

Ethan sat on the edge of a brocade armchair, staring into his black coffee as if he expected a defense briefing to appear in the foam.